Lair of the Dog: Mission 15: Black Ocean: Mercy for Hire, #15

By J.S. Morin

Home is where the bark is.

 

Fleeing from an unwinnable battle, Tanny is forced to find a planet where she can take refuge from a syndicate with galaxy-spanning reach. The first planet that meets the bill is a wild, forbidden world, home to all manner of monsters. But she has an ace up her sleeve; one of her closest allies was born there.

 

But even with the help of a local, can Tanny and her crew survive long enough to contact help?

 

Lair of the Dog is the fifteenth mission of Black Ocean: Mercy for Hire. Set in the Black Ocean Universe, it continues the saga of the galaxy's sweetest bounty hunter and her loyal sidekick (who is NOT a dog!) and introduces a colorful cast for new and returning readers alike. Fans of vigilante justice and heroes who exemplify the word will love this series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Magical Scrivener Press
• Release date: Aug 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781643551128

J.S. Morin

I am a creator of worlds and a destroyer of words. As a fantasy writer, my works range from traditional epics to futuristic fantasy with starships. I have worked as an unpaid Little League pitcher, a cashier, a student library aide, a factory grunt, a cubicle drone, and an engineer--there is some overlap in the last two. Through it all, though, I was always a storyteller. Eventually I started writing books based on the stray stories in my head, and people kept telling me to write more of them. Now, that's all I do for a living. I enjoy strategy, worldbuilding, and the fantasy author's privilege to make up words. I am a gamer, a joker, and a thinker of sideways thoughts. But I don't dance, can't sing, and my best artistic efforts fall short of your average notebook doodle. When you read my books, you are seeing me at my best. My ultimate goal is to be both clever and right at the same time. I have it on good authority that I have yet to achieve it. Visit me at jsmorin.com

Book preview

Lair Of The Dog

LAIR OF THE DOG

MISSION 15

BLACK OCEAN: MERCY FOR HIRE

J.S. MORIN

MAGICAL SCRIVENER PRESS

Copyright © 2020 J.S. Morin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed Attention: Permissions Coordinator, at the address below.

Magical Scrivener Press

www.magicalscrivener.com

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Ordering Information: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address above.

J.S. Morin — First Edition

ISBN: 978-1-64355-112-8

Printed in the United States of America

LAIR OF THE DOG

MISSION 15

Seconds blipped away, the last few grains of sand in the hourglass of 2563.

Good riddance. What a shitty year.

Tiffany held her glass of champagne at the ready, poised for the end of the countdown. When the time reached 23:59:50, the crowd gathered in the rec room of the Errand of Mercy began the countdown.

Ten… nine… eight… they chanted.

Tanny leaned over to her. Still underage.

Seven… six… five…

Tiffany snorted. Enforce it.

As if Tanny cared. In a way, the casual ribbing was a form of acceptance. She’d seen enough of the shit slung back and forth by the syndicate members to understand that much. But this wasn’t a club she wanted to be a part of.

Four… three… two…

Tiffany raised her glass to her lips.

One… HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Throwing back the contents in one gulp, Tiffany gasped in satisfaction. Ahh, eighteen at last.

Not sure it works that way, Tanny warned with a smirk after finishing her toast.

Who gives a shit? Tiffany asked as she made her way alongside the herd seeking the buffet. I was born in ’46. It’s ’64 now. The math’s not hard.

Yeah, maybe, but—

I’m 18.

Tanny let the matter drop. Tiffany picked through the plastic-wrapped treats, selecting a pair of Frosti Cakes, one cupcake iced in vanilla with rainbow sprinkles, the other chocolate topped with a chalky, flat candy raspberry.

As the kissing and aftershock toasts around the room died down, another chant rose.

Speech! Speech!

Obligingly, Tanny climbed onto a chair and patted her hands in the air to silence the calls for her to address the syndicate. Booted feet balanced precariously as the uneven legs wobbled beneath her.

Happy New Year, everyone, Tanny called out, voice carrying throughout the room. 2563 was a hard year for all of us. I can’t promise 2564 will be any easier.

Boo, Tiffany added without giving voice to the thought. If this wasn’t the time for platitudes and bromides about the coming 366 days, what was?

There will be challenges ahead. We will rise to them. There will be obstacles to face. We will overcome them. We will lose battles, but I promise you that we WILL win the war. Here’s to remaking the galaxy in 2564!

Someone passed her a half-empty champagne bottle, and Tanny raised it in a toast.

Tiffany declined this round, muttering a muted Hear, hear through a mouthful of science-made cupcake.

A crinkle from below drew Tiffany’s attention to a young thief of Frosti Cakes. Harmony held a strawberry-iced specimen, still in its wrapper. Tiffany deftly plucked it away and lifted it out of reach.

Does your mom know you have that? Tiffany asked in a mom voice that snuck up on her out of nowhere. Maybe it was suddenly being an adult that forced her abrupt transition to old lady.

It’s all right, Karen said, coming up behind her daughter. Tiffany handed back the sugary treat. I told her she could if she finished her Swirli Cup. Not like much on this ship is health food. She spoke the latter in an aside meant for Tiffany’s ears only.

Frankly, the artificial yogurt cups were nasty business. Any kid who made it through one deserved a cupcake in her book. Want me to take a quick shopping trip? Tiffany asked. I can get to a colony and back in a couple hours. Get some actual kid-friendly food.

You’re sweet, Karen told her. But a few sweets won’t stunt her growth. Until Esper gets back, we need you here.

Need me…

Tiffany wondered just how much the syndicate was relying on her. Tanny had so many plans she kept to herself. Who knew how many schemes she was hiding.

She would have been a fool to think otherwise, and Tanny would have been a fool not to have a secret replacement lined up if anything happened to her.

Even putting all her hopes for overthrowing her father in the hands of two wizards was reckless.

And the more Tiffany got to know the woman, the more she became convinced that Tanny was no fool. There were other ways to get a ship back from this part of the astral, and Tanny had to have figured out a backup plan by now.

If not… then she surely was a fool.

The book lay on an antique desk of real Earthwood, worth more than most honest men earned in a lifetime. And yet, by comparison, the book had cost enough that adding a hundred such desks to the transaction would have hardly dented the price tag.

Part of Don Rucker wished he’d made that smarmy butler who’d sold it to him disappear. However, he couldn’t quite shake the nagging feeling that the man’s claims of allies in the Convocation and unpleasant precautions against betrayal might not have been entirely bluster.

What were 300 million terras compared to ridding himself of Tania and her wizard cohort?

A pair of shader lenses lay on the table just beside the book. Jimmy and Earl wore theirs as they stood by, waiting. In these troubled times for the Rucker Syndicate, he had to keep his closest allies by his side.

The book…

Don glanced at it but tried to keep from staring. The leather binding looked like it had stayed out in the rain. The pages didn’t match up with one another, leaving a ragged, yellowed edge exposed around three sides. Nothing but his own good sense kept him from opening the cover and taking a look inside. It seemed crazy but since paying the cost of a galactic news network to acquire it, he hadn’t so much as checked to be certain the Tome of Bleeding Thoughts was, in fact, what it was purported to be.

Jimmy pressed a finger to the comm piece in his ear. He glanced up. He’s here.

Don took a steadying breath. The sooner the book was out of his possession, the better. Send him in.

The doors to Don’s office opened. Blustering into the room came a tall, slender wizard with the bearing of a navy man. Appropriate, since he’d recently retired from Convocation naval service. His face was smooth-shaved, his hair buzzed close to the scalp and peppered with gray. A permanent set of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gave him a predatory scowl.

Jimmy swept out a hand. Don, this is Oswald Chapman.

The man turned that scowl in Jimmy’s direction. I am properly addressed as ‘wizard’ or ‘commander.’

We’re not that formal, Don informed Oswald levelly. When he’d claimed the man’s attention away from Jimmy, he laid it all out there. So, you’re the one willing to do what it takes to put an end to this little coup of mine?

Oswald sneered. "I despise chaos. I know who and what you are, Mr. Rucker. You compartmentalize a certain unsavory element of society. Without your centralized authority, the same functions would fall to countless criminal tribes and neighborhood warlords."

You’re familiar with the targets? Don asked.

I’ve perused your dossiers, Oswald replied, nose raised slightly. I appreciate the token gesture of printing hard copies. I have since committed them to memory and consigned them to flame.

Jimmy wagged a finger. Consigning to flame. Yeah. That’s the stuff we’re looking for.

Don cast a glance, and Jimmy shut up. So, you understand the challenges.

Oswald sighed. I will read the book. I have my own methods, but I would be remiss if I passed up the opportunity to at least fully comprehend the depths of my opponent’s arsenal, if not put it to use toward my own ends.

Don glowered. I expect you to use it.

"You expect me to win. I shall keep my own counsel on stratagems, thank you. Your daughter, frankly, will pose neither threat nor complication. Her associate, Esper Richelieu, is formidable but raw. Her use of forbidden magics has rendered her more dangerous than her nature and background ought to have. A clever young girl with a blaster can surprise many a seasoned marine. But forearm and forewarn a marine, and the girl stands little chance. So it is with wizards. My training and experience, combined with the knowledge of the Tome of Bleeding Thoughts, will render her an impotent foe."

The wizard studied the book on the table.

I presume this is the volume in question?

Jimmy stepped up and produced another pair of shaders from inside his jacket. Might wanna put these on before you—

But Oswald had already plucked the tome from Don’s desk. I am no wizard for this task if I’m to cower before words. I’m not some boy at the holos to have his eyes shielded by his mother’s hand when the naughty bits appear.

Then, to Don’s amazement and horror, Oswald opened the cover.

In the frenzy to grab his shaders and put them on, Don abandoned all decorum. His heavy palm cracked one of the arms, and he was forced to hold the lenses to his face with one hand.

By the time the world dimmed, and Don dared peek, Oswald gaped slack-jawed at the book. Don, Jimmy, and Earl watched for a moment, all of them positioning themselves such that they couldn’t accidentally view the contents. After a time, Oswald turned the page. His eyes didn’t flit back and forth. He didn’t blink.

Get him out of here, Don ordered. Put him up in the guest suite. Post guards.

On it, Jimmy confirmed. Taking Oswald by the upper arm and shielding his eyes with his free hand, he led the unresisting—and still staring—wizard from the office.

When the door closed behind them, Don and Earl let out matching sighs of relief. Both took off their shaders.

All Earl said was, Well, you told me to find you some crazy motherfucker willing to read it.

Esper’s footsteps clacked on the permacrete. High heels, a knee-length trench coat with the collar upturned, and shader lenses—all black and glossy—kept her shadowed in the underground loading dock of the Kutting Khordz nightclub. Thunderous music muted to a faint hum of bass from above. Her entourage had stayed behind on her orders. The pocket-sized blaster tucked inside her coat was supposed to keep her safe, but her real protection was the Rucker name she was borrowing.

When the Antigo Gang’s envoy stepped out from behind a stack of beer crates, she saw Janice Rucker.

Esper’s contact stood a head shorter than her in heels. She wore a skirt suit at odds with the body-modder spikes impaling her through her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Her eyes—a mismatched yellow and purple—sized the faux Janice up and down.

You’re late, Jasmelle said as a greeting. It was more a statement than an accusation, but it was calculated to set a tone.

So was Esper’s reply. "The meeting time was when I wanted you here. I’m never late. Have you got what I need?"

Jasmelle glanced to the door to the club above. Did she have backup? Was she considering an escape route? She played the scene for Janice Rucker, still held as a mental captive in the recesses of Esperville. On that sound stage of imagination, Janice reacted to the situation.

This Janice had been led to the meeting under different pretenses. But the nature of the schemes in play was Esper’s secret. All that mattered was plumbing the syndicate lieutenant’s personality reflexes. An insignificant pawn’s attention was drifting in a way that might be construed as suspicious.

Hey! Esper barked once she knew the appropriate response, snapping her fingers to startle her contact. Eyes here. Do you have my data crystal?

Jasmelle inched forward as if she suspected an ambush. Based on what she knew of Janice from recent experience, Esper couldn’t blame the woman. When she reached for the pocket inside her suit coat, Jasmelle kept her movements slow and deliberate.

Heels echoing ominously, Esper closed the distance. She caught the woman by the wrist, then reached into that pocket for her. Once she had the data crystal in hand, she peered into it as though she could read its data through her P-tech shader lenses. With a quick flourish of magic disguised as sleight of hand, the data crystal disappeared into Esper’s own pocket. Then, taking Jasmelle by the lapels, she tugged her jacket back into place, smoothing the shoulders like a tailor checking the garment’s fit.

Through it all, Jasmelle kept silent and still. Her breath quickened just before that silence broke. My money?

Esper took a half step closer. Their bodies were practically touching. Careful not to prick her fingers on those cheek spikes, she tilted Jasmelle’s chin with her full hand. "Over the course of three weeks, watch your servers’ tips. The amount we agreed will show up there. Untraceable. Capisce?"

The payment method had been Janice’s invention. Not only did it place the onus of skimming those tips onto Jasmelle, it also made it impossible to verify that Janice had made any contribution at all. And Janice had no intention of paying out. The only recourse would be to call Janice a liar or refuse the terms in advance.

Such a passive-aggressive method of screwing an informant didn’t sit well with her, but it sat better than many of the alternatives.

Jasmelle watched her for a moment, perhaps catching on, perhaps naively resigned to hoping Janice followed through with the arrangement. Got it.

Esper turned her back on the woman and strode away. No second set of footsteps echoed along with hers. Jasmelle had remained rooted in place.

As Esper reached the spot where Mikey and Two-Shot Pete waited for her, she pulled out the data crystal. I have it. Let’s blow ions.

Mikey piloted, and Two-Shot held the door for Esper before climbing in beside her in the back. The hovercruiser rose into the New Venice night.

Where’s the hit gonna be? Two-Shot asked eagerly.

"I look like a datapad